Little Secrets
by pinky0208
Summary: Michael is not very experienced with women. But he's got something for Naomi. He visits her room in the middle of the night. I'm rly bad at summaries, but it's rly good if you ship Miomi. I promise, this is filled with Miomi.


Little Secrets

Seated at what was passing for a vanity in her room in a small inn, Naomi Clark absently ran a brush through her short brown hair, thinking on how happy she was that she had cut it. It was still a bit of a bother sometimes, particularly on windy days, but overall she was pleased with it.

Her father had mourned for it, of course, but when he had seen her off to join the Scout Regiment, he had smiled at her and told her how much he loved it.

The door opened and she stiffened, eyes narrowed into the mirror. If Ryan really thought—

But it wasn't Ryan, and as Michael closed the door silently behind him, he put a finger to his lips, signaling her to keep quiet. She did so not because she was following his order, but because she couldn't think of anything to say to him.

"By all means," he began, leaning up against the door, arms crossed in his typical fashion, one booted foot against the wood, "don't stop on my account."

Omi blinked, lowering her brush. "H-Heichou. . ."

It was weak, but it was the only word that she could utter.

He didn't reply, watching her as she fumbled for words. He understood how inappropriate his behavior was. She sat before him in naught but her white nightdress. It was a hideous shapeless thing, but it was sheer and left little to the imagination. It was an expensive material, nothing like the wool or cotton he had expected her to dress in, so perhaps it had been a gift. Or perhaps she had saved for it.

A part of him wanted to let out a reprimanding 'tch' and look away in distaste. Girls like Naomi shouldn't be wearing such things. But then again, girls like Naomi didn't have men in their rooms while they were indecent either, so what she did or didn't wear to bed was no business of his.

"You shouldn't be here," she scolded quietly, "there will be rumors."

Rumors he could handle.

"Are you saying that to save face, Omi, or do you really want me to leave?"

He'd honor her request if she issued it, but Michael could tell by the way her cheeks became tinged with pink and she tried to avoid his fierce stare that she had no intention of sending him away.

"I don't want you to get in trouble," she pressed.

Ah, Omi. Always thinking of others.

The corner of his mouth flicked upwards for a moment, the illusion of a smile. "If anything Brianna might congratulate me."

It wasn't true; he was likely to be punished for dallying with a subordinate, but the blush his implications brought forth was a beautiful sight, and worth the small lie.

"I think you have the wrong idea about me, Heichou," she said firmly, taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders. "I don't uncross my legs for every man that finds it in himself to kiss me."

This amused the corporal. "Do men often find it in themselves to kiss you, Omi?"

Naomi stared ahead at him, so sure of himself, and of her. Though his expression never changed, she knew he was teasing her.

"No," she admitted, "Just you."

"That's good."

And it was. He'd hate to be in competition for her affections, and moreover, he had little interest in light skirted women. In fact, Michael had little interest in any women. He was a busy man; he simply didn't have the time.

But then Naomi had come along. He'd watched her, fresh from graduation, so ready, so willing to give herself to humanity. Though female soldiers were far from unusual, there was something about her that he found admirable. She wasn't hardened and bitter, nor was she simpering and fanciful.

She was perfect.

Initially his attraction to her had not been romantic. She had been just a child at the time, after all. He watched her carefully, as he did with many of the brats that showed potential and each time she returned from their mission, he made a point in remembering so.

Her skills (though shaky at first) accompanied by her raw determination to excel paired well with her excellent response to teamwork and though he never set her apart publicly, Michael knew she was special.

By the time she turned eighteen, she had impressed him significantly, and as a token of his gratitude he voiced this to her. She had saluted him and thanked him for acknowledging her hard work, but there was something else in her features, something that he wouldn't be quick to forget.

She was blushing.

It was then that Michael was able to marvel at the woman she had become, even if he did so briefly, and only ever to himself. He wasn't any good with women.

It was that same year that he assigned her to his own squad and she accepted the position with grace and cheer. The others welcomed her eagerly and he was content.

For five months she had worked alongside him, following his direct orders and completing her tasks to the best of her ability, which was far above the competency of many soldiers her age.

Ryan had taken a particular liking to her, one which Michael disapproved of, even if he pretended not to notice. It wasn't his business, and Naomi handled the boar with such a cleverly cutting tongue, it was often more entertaining to overhear than it was annoying.

Naomi herself seemed to have a certain affinity for him and though at first he had brushed it off as simple captain/subordinate admiration, his own admiration for her had blossomed into something quite unfamiliar to him and he wondered if it would be worth it to test her.

It would, he had decided, and a week prior to his entering her room, he had called her into his office at headquarters, shut the door, and with little warning or regard for her own emotions, kissed her.

It was a wildly inappropriate thing to do, and something he was sure he'd be spurned for, but he needed to know. There was too much unknown in his life that he couldn't be dealing with the juvenile anxiety of having a crush. He needed to know if it would be any use pursuing her, or if he would let her go.

As it turned out, despite her initial cry of surprise, she was more than eager to be at the mercy of his kisses, and when he pulled away, she put her fingertips to her lips and exhaled slowly.

"Heichou. . ."

Michael's jaw was set. "Now you know," was all he said. Without another thought, he dismissed her.

It was an odd proclamation of love, if love was what this feeling was, but as he had always known, he wasn't any good with women.

She had been careful the next day not to get too close to him, and to be mindful of the distance she kept. She didn't want to appear suspicious. Their circle was small and she was still new. Embarrassing the corporal would not bode well for her career, nor for the friendships she had made.

When she served him tea that night, he allowed his hand to graze hers on more than one occasion and when she bent to ask him how he was enjoying it, she let her hair brush against his cheek in their closeness. There wasn't anyone in the dining hall at this hour, so he set down his beverage and, running a hand through her hair, brought her face to his, pressing his lips to her temple.

"Never forget my fucking tea," he murmured against her skin. It wasn't a threat or an order, but a request.

"I won't," she laughed, pulling away to look at him. His mouth remained unsmiling as always, but his eyes were soft. He blinked once, then returned to his tea.

"We travel in the morning," he told her, "be sure to get plenty of sleep."

She smiled at this, plopping a kiss of her own on his cheek. "Of course, Heichou."

He waited for her to leave, listening to the sound of her boots as she gave a tiny skip on her way out, then raised his fingers to the place she had graced him with affection.

Now, in her room, he pushed off the door, crossing the room without a word. She watched him, torn between wanting to continue tending to her hair and her desire to meet him halfway. If she chose the latter though, she may appear too willing and he may find her in bad taste.

Even though she had worked so closely to him, and had learned to navigate most of his quirks, Michael was an impersonal sort of man and she still knew very little about him. She didn't know what sort of women he liked (save for her, at the moment), or what he thought to be pleasing behavior.

The truth was, Naomi didn't know much about these sorts of things at all. She'd had a few boys chasing after her in her cadet days, but had been too focused on her training to entertain any of their wishes. She couldn't have been bothered to taste romance when the fate of humanity was on the line. So she had smiled at them and politely declined any of their offers.

When she had met Michael, however, it had been love at first sight. Well, love may have been too strong a term at the time. At sixteen years old with raging hormones she had tried to suppress, the first time she laid eyes on the corporal sent her head reeling in a way that embarrassed her. She distinctly recalled nearly swooning in his presence (something she would keep deeply buried forever), and the gruff attitude he displayed towards his 'brats' sent chills through her entire body.

But then, she had seen him fight. Like cold water it had splashed over her and set all of her lustful attraction aside while pure awe rose up inside of her. That was what she was training to become. A master titan killer, her father's pride.

Humanity's hope.

Her desire to be equal to Michael and protect their people from oppression fueled her like nothing else had and she soon found herself by his side, under his direct command.

He stopped at the chair she sat in, standing over her and sending a glance down at the hairbrush. She said nothing, so he pulled it from her loose grip and moved behind her, a hand on the top of her head pivoting her to face the mirror.

"You should finish what you start," he told her, putting the brush to her hair and moving the bristles through her locks. She watched him in the mirror, his mouth turned down as he concentrated on tending to her and she smiled.

"Then give me my brush back."

"I don't think I will," he replied, raking his fingers through the silky strands, enjoying the closeness he was sharing with her. He should be more careful, but he didn't care. She brought a comfort to him that no one before had been able to. Simply being near her was calming and though out there, on the other side of the door, he wasn't able to express this, in here, tonight, he would show her.

Through with her hair, he dropped the brush to the ground and joined her gaze in the mirror. She was a vision in the candlelight, honey eyes glowing with adoration, adoration for him, and it made his chest tighten with, what was it? Anxiety? No. Pride? Maybe.

"Kiss me, Omi."

Her eyes widened. "What?"

"Kiss me," he repeated, "or send me away." Because if she wouldn't allow him to be close to her, he'd have to stay away.

Still, she didn't move, shocked by his unusually forward advance. He let out a breath of air through his nose, displaying a bit of humor, and dropped to his knees, pressing his lips to her pulse.

The action caused heat to shoot throughout her entire body and she tilted her head back with a heavy breath that she was trying desperately to control. Resisting the urge to indulge in a satisfied grin, Michael lifted one of his hands to catch her chin, bringing her face down and forcing her to look at their reflection once again.

"Keep your eyes open," he ordered, "I want you to see how beautiful you are."

It was difficult, but she kept herself focused on her own face, and when he switched from kissing to a gentle suckling, she let out a soft whine that held more sexual overtones than even he was prepared for. Naomi struggled against his hold, desperate to give in to him, but his commanding grip kept her in her place, watching him as he pleasured her neck.

There was something unusual in her own eyes, she noted, but that was as far as her observations were able to go, her mind completely clouded by her superior's actions.

"Heichou. . ." she breathed, her voice low and sultry. This earned her a sharp nip and while perhaps any other time she may have yelped, his reprimand only fueled her need for him.

"Michael," he growled against her flesh. While he took pleasure in his ability to command her, here there was no rank. Alone together they were simply human.

"Michael," she amended, wiggling in the chair. There was a liquid heat at her core unfamiliar to her. It was uncomfortable, and it pulled at her, begging to be satisfied, but Naomi didn't know how to go about doing so.

He shifted in place, moving up to her jawline, leaving a trail of hot kisses in his wake. His hand slid from her chin, sliding down the other side of her neck and settling on her collarbone. His thumb caressed the skin there and she raised her own hand to settle on his.

"Don't play with me," she breathed. She meant it as a warning, even if it came out as a breathy plea, "I'm not that kind of girl."

At this, Michael stopped, pulling his face away from hers. "And just what sort of man do you think I am?"

Naomi turned, wanting to speak to him, not his reflection. "I don't know," she admitted.

He frowned, showing his disapproval, and again held her chin to face the mirror as he attacked her pulse, fiercely this time. She had insulted him.

"You aren't my fucking plaything, Omi," he snapped between nips and bites. His hold on her face was rough as he displayed his offense. "I have no time to toy with you."

She whispered his name again, and she could tell by the way he loosened his grip on her and slowed to more romantic, lingering kisses, that she had quelled his irritation. Finding her own courage, her hands found his face and with a gentle sort of firmness, pushed him away from her body.

His eyes flicked up to hers, gauging her. She didn't seem afraid of him, nor did she have the hunger of a lioness in her eyes. She was curious, and it was so God damned adorable it nearly sent Michael over the edge.

Taking a silent breath, Naomi made the decision to be bold. Gripping the lapels of his jacket, she pushed the thick fabric from his shoulders and down his arms, ignoring it when it fell to the ground with a soft crumpling sound.

"It's not fair," she said softly, sliding two fingers beneath the leather strap of his harness and using it to pull him to a standing position. She then slipped from its buckle, letting the contraption drop around his waist.

He said nothing while she untucked his white shirt, his body aflame. She'd never really touched him before, save a concerned hand on his arm or an accidental brushing of their shoulders, and here she was now, undressing him. She was fiery and daring, even if her motions were unpracticed and innocent. He felt the linen of his cravat slip out from around his neck and with a cheeky smile, Naomi tossed it over her shoulder.

"Much better," she commented, grinning at her handiwork.

It was that moment when Michael knew he would keep her forever. She was still young, nineteen as of a few weeks prior, and it would be a few years still before she was of age to marry, but he would keep her secretly and he would love her with everything he was.

If she'd have him, of course.

And it seemed, as she closed the distance between them, raking her fingernails across the short, shaved hair on the back of his head, that she would.

Her mouth was soft and sweet as she brushed it against his own and though she was inexperienced, her feelings were true. Noting the kiss was her invitation for him to stay, Michael held her face in his hands, taking the lead. He kissed her soft and slow this time, savoring her flavor and pouring his entire being into hers. She sighed against him, her fingers now running through his hair, black as the night and as of that moment, reserved only for her and her beautiful hands.

He pulled away, giving her a chance to regain her breath, and took a few steps back, lowering himself onto the bed. He reached out his hand, happy when she took it and she allowed him to lift her onto his lap, resting his forehead against hers. They needn't go any further than these sweet affections. He wanted her, all of her, but he would take his time.

"I could never send you away, Heichou," she told him quietly, deliberately disobeying his order to refer to him by his given name, but hugging his neck and settling her head against his chest, listening to his ever steady heartbeat. "you are too precious to me."


End file.
